I sit in darkness, mourning your death.
Then I turn on a dim light
to scribble out some verses,
knowing they will change even as I write.
Things disappear. People disappear too,
gone, vanished without saying goodbye.
You're no longer alive, sweet friend,
but laughter rings from yesterday's mouth.
I saw the horseman on a black stallion
ride by the moon, a dire omen as the sun rose.
I know he wanted you, took you, and so you died.
Now the sun won't climb its usual rungs.
Yet I'm alive, in your death, and I remember
our shared life together — two as one.
I don't fear a loveless hell or memory's empty words
rising amid the wails of ghosts. I go on.
There's no such thing as a first life, best life,
just as there's no such thing as a little love.
I'm determined not to miss you — forgive me
another small lie, for I'll see you again
when life turns to dreams. I love you still.
William Archer Lair
The pure products of America go crazy. William Carlos Williams